


Run, baby, run

by totally_absurd



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Homophobic Language, Kise is being a drama queen, M/M, Touou is a university, characters and pairings to be added, other canon high schools too, touou!kise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totally_absurd/pseuds/totally_absurd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That’s what failed expectations look like, he thinks idly as the incredulity in his sisters gaze turns into disappointment.<br/>Well, Ryouta was done with those.<br/>Ryouta was also done with basketball."</p><p>Or the one where where Kise Ryouta finds himself in Touou, without really wanting to be there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to make them all a little older, so here Teiko is a high school and all the schools we see in canon are universities. The reason for that is that it's difficult for me to write about 15-yearolds, I tend to make them act much older than they are. And though I know that 18 is not much older and maturity is not the same as age, it still bothers me. Besides making them older gives a little more freedom to their actions and decisions, so there's that.  
> I also took a bit of artistic license and kept the uniform, I liked it too much =)  
> I am sorry it is not the update for the Bullet and that I dropped off the face of earth for so long, I tend to do that. I did not drop the story though and I don't intend to, this Idea just won't leave me after seeing all those beautiful pics of Kise in Touou uniform =)

Ryouta had long since given up on making plans and placing expectations on things that did not depend solely on his own determination and effort.

His older sister said that it sounded ridiculous coming from the eighteen-year-old boy. She also said that his dramatic teenage angst was even less impressive than his bubbly childish antics, eye roll and exasperated sigh included.

Whether it was a teenage angst or he was just sulking because his father finally decided to behave like one at the worst moment possible, the result was the same. It still seemed like every turn he took lately was ending up in disappointment, the last one standing before him in the form of the wrought iron gates to the Touou academy.

Because just like basketball was supposed to make a difference and Aomine was supposed to be the shining height he aspired to, Ryouta himself was supposed to be at the University of Kaijo entrance ceremony in three hours, which would be kind of difficult to accomplish seeing as he was not in Kanagawa and about to enter the gates of another school.

 

He sighs blowing a tuft of hair away from his eye and looking sullenly at the lavish greenery that covers the academy’s territory. It’s probably one of those elite places that even has fancy uniforms and attracts more snobs than Aomine’s basket count throughout the whole three years of high school.

And he is once again thinking about Aomine.

Aomine, who was his beacon, but ended up in need of some guidance himself. Not that Aomine would accept it or even admit to needing anyone's help. Too proud and seemingly unapproachable like the sun, for Ryouta Aomine was a miracle all on his own.

Aomine was also Ryouta’s biggest disappointment.

Not because his basketball wasn’t as amazing as Ryouta perceived it to be at the first glance, but because day by day Aomine was rapidly turning into exactly what Ryouta was running away from when he joined the basketball team.

He, like all of their teammates, now resented the game that was once the center of everything in his life. And Ryouta couldn’t, for the life of him, bring himself to aspire to someone who had no aspirations of their own.

Once upon a time, all he wanted was to beat Aomine in basketball. Now he was wondering if it was worth the apathy that would surely come after.

The loud bang brings Ryouta back to the present and out of his depressing thoughts, his older sister finally climbing out of the car, grumbling loudly about diva little brothers and their enormous suitcases (and why would he even need so much clothes going to a college that has a uniform, all it's going to do is collect dust under his bed).

She is getting louder by the minute and Ryouta could feel his ears get a shade redder with every decibel she adds to her voice.

"I think they heard you in Okinawa, Onee-chan. No need to raise your voice."

The vicious glare he gets in return is a bit disconcerting being sent by the eyes so similar to the ones he sees in the mirror every day and the belated thought of “keep your mouth shut” fleets through his mind.

His teeth sink into his bottom lip to stop another snarky comment from coming out and she smirks in response, knowing she won this one. There’s a click and the trunk springs open revealing the source of her annoyance in all its shining dark blue glory surrounded by the boxes with his non wardrobe related possessions.

Ryouta sighs again before he can stop himself. He knows exactly why he bought it in that color and now it’s going to be mocking him until the day it’s finally broken enough to have an excuse to throw it away.

He turns around swiftly and reminds her that he has to fill out the paperwork first so they proceed to the main building where the secretary’s office is located in silence, he once again lost in his thoughts and his sister curiously looking around.

The secretary is none too pleased with his late arrival.

“Normally students arrive at last a day before the entrance ceremony,” she comments, obviously trying to be polite, but failing miserably as her slightly nasal voice rings with annoyance. His sister visibly bristles and opens her mouth ready to start an argument Ryouta has no desire to participate in.

He casts his eyes down putting up his best chastised expression and looking at the middle-aged secretary through his long lashes.

“I’m sorry, Arisawa-san. My father didn’t want to send me so far away from home, but I wanted to go to this school so much. We were arguing about it until the last minute,” he says quietly, but firmly.

Oh, the irony. They were indeed arguing until the last minute, only Ryouta was not the one insisting to be sent here.

Arisawa-san looks positively dazed and Ryouta works really hard to fight a smirk crawling its way up his lips. To his right he hears his sister scoff quietly and could almost hear her eyes roll. He mentally flips her off, she would do the same thing if it was a man sitting behind this desk.

“It’s alright Kise-kun, you should have time to settle before the ceremony in three hours. But don’t cut the time so short in the future.”

He bows his head in the show of obedience and proceeds with filling all the necessary forms.

“Your dorm room is in the building three,” she informs after giving him the map of the grounds and his schedule. “The entrance ceremony will be held here in three hours, just come up to the main hall and the professor in charge will show you where to go. Oogamine-san who is in charge of your dorm should be....”

Ryouta continues to nod like a wooden puppet as she drones on and on – the sound muted in his ears – and smiles, smiles and smiles more. It’s a technique he developed because of his father’s propensity for long-winded lectures and perfected over the years of attending continuous parties that were, according to the agency, absolutely necessary for his successful modeling career.

And then she utters two words that bring his almost meditative state to a screeching halt.

“…the basketball team should be submitted in the first two weeks or you won’t be allowed into the try outs,” she says, holding out more papers for him. Ryouta’s fingers twitch, but his hand remains at his side, unmoving. His polite smile frozen on his face.

“Thank you,” he says, feeling his sister’s gaze drilling the side of his head. “But I won’t be needing those. I’m not planning to try out for the basketball team.”

His smile gets wider, but does not extend further than his lips.

That’s what failed expectations look like, he thinks idly as the incredulity in his sisters gaze turns into disappointment.

Well, Ryouta was done with those.

Ryouta was also done with basketball.


	2. Chapter 2

His dorm room is… nothing special actually.

Everything is duplicated right down the middle, like those find five differences picture games. There are two beds with dark blue comforters, two small desks with uncomfortable looking chairs and a wardrobe that can be split right down the middle into two identical parts. The latter is somewhat rickety and, like the room itself, not very big, which makes Ryouta turn a wary gaze on his enormous suitcase.

It seems fancy academies are not so fancy after all.

The uniform thankfully is also nothing extravagant. Ryouta adjusts his red stripped tie in front of the dorm bathroom mirror and looks himself over critically. Those aren’t his colors – the dark blue jacket makes him look paler than usual and the red of the tie is clashing with his hair – but at last the uniform is as simple as a uniform can get.

_Aomine would look good in this._

The thought comes out of nowhere and makes Ryouta scowl at his reflection. There is no need to bring up the past, because that’s what Aomine is – the past. If Ryouta won’t join the basketball team, they would probably never even meet again.

And so what if it already feels like there is an Aomine shaped hole in his life? It doesn’t mean Ryouta has to think about him.

Like at all.

He lets out a heavy breath, eyes closing for a brief moment and features smoothing out into a pleasant expression instead of annoyed one.

Because Kise Ryouta does not scowl, Kise Ryouta smiles.

And his life is perfect as far as everyone is concerned.

 

Countenance back under control Ryouta strolls out of the room and makes his way to the main hall. People are still milling about: senior students telling their friends about their summers and first years darting their eyes around trying to find a familiar or at last friendly face.

No one pays him much attention and for once he’s grateful for anonymity that being the new kid on campus provides. It won’t last long though, he can already see a group of girls whispering and throwing what they probably consider to be inconspicuous glances in his direction.

They aren’t pointing.

Yet.

But they will be and then it will be all…

“Ki-chan?”

Ryouta’s whole body freezes and he feels blood draining from his face like watching the water level drop in the broken aquarium. His palms are suddenly clammy and there’s a bile in his throat that threatens to come out.

There is only one person that calls him that.

And that person is definitely not supposed to be here.

“Momo-cchi?” He asks turning around.

And of course the answer is yes.

 

Momoi Satsuki’s life, as Ryouta came to find out, was not complete unless she had someone to micromanage into submission. For three years that he had known her she was a class representative, basketball club manager and Aomine’s keeper, all in that order though not necessarily separate.

She drove her classmates up the wall with her constant barrage of ideas for this festival and that cause and he could almost feel the disappointment pour off her in waves every time they failed to show the enthusiasm she expected.

She was the one that gave Teiko basketball team’s victories that cutting edge that made their opponents feel helpless in their own predictability.

She dragged Aomine through the whole third year of high school almost by the scruff, like she would a lazy cat that’d rather lie the day away on the roof, than do anything productive.

And now that she stands in front of him, eyes the size of platters from shock, Ryouta can’t help remembering that last one with horror.

Because this school while being an elite one is not so renowned to attract students from distant districts…

…unless they have a basketball scholarship. And there is only one person Momoi will follow to the ends of the world that would have one.

They stare at each other in silence as the crowd buzzes around them. It’s been little more than a month, but feels like a lifetime had passed since he’d seen her last. There’s nothing different, except for the uniform and that stare that bleeds from surprised to calculating in a rapid succession. The one he’d seen many times but was never the target of.

She purses her lips and takes a deep breath before plunging head first.

“Dai-chan got the scholarship, but I think you already know that,” she informs him without preamble, but the only place Ryouta is known to plunge head first lately is the sand.

“It’s nice to see you too, Momo-cchi. How was your spring break?” he asks with the cheerful smile, ignoring the dreadful piece of information she provided him and prompting her eyes to narrow into slits.

“It was nice, thank you. How come you are here and not at Kaijou?”

Tenacious girl. How exactly does she know about that?

It’s his turn to take a deep breath.

“My father thought this school provided better education and it’s closer to my new agency.”

It actually is, though that is not exactly the reason for his being here. Momoi knows it too and he could almost see her biting her tongue, to keep the word liar from slipping out.

The awkward silence follows. Every question Ryouta can think of would lead back to Aomine and she seems to have come to the conclusion that she’s not going to get answers out of him, at last not honest ones.

He should leave, Ryouta thinks, it’s not like he has any obligation to stand here and talk to her just because they went to high school together and were on friendly terms. Most people don’t even stay in touch after school, so the sensible thing to do would be to smile politely and go hide somewhere until the start of the ceremony.

It would also be the coward’s way out.

But why the hell not?

He’s good at this ‘ _avoiding_ ’ thing. Pretending _is_ in his job description. ‘Ignore your problems and they will go away’ is as good motto to live by as any and it worked for him pretty well so far.

Only it’s not going to work this time, because even if he hides now, Aomine would still be here tomorrow. And Momoi is not likely to keep her mouth shut until Ryouta works up the courage to face his demons.

He squares his shoulders and plasters a smile on his face, one that’s even more inane than his usual ‘meet and greet’ version. He opens his mouth to continue the conversation with some meaningless chatter to fill the unbearable silence, but sadly the hour of doom comes much quicker than he expected.

“No fucking way!” The voice exclaims behind his back, its gruff quality so familiar it hurts. The smile grows sharp edges, like a barbed wire to contain the dangerous truth that threatens to escape.

“Aomine-cchi!” He exclaims in return, coating his voice with copious amounts of fake cheer, and turns around.

He was right, he thinks, Aomine does look good in this uniform, dashing even. The signature scowl still does him no favors though, makes him look older and more dangerous than he actually is.

And it is not the shiver of anticipation that runs up Ryouta’s spine. It’s dread. In all of its dark and handsome glory.

Aomine takes one look at his cheerful face and scowls even harder.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Kise?” He asks, rude as always. And it’s funny, really, that up until maybe an hour ago Ryouta was wondering about the same damn thing.

“Well, you might have noticed the uniform. That should give you the first clue.”

He really shouldn’t have done this, not with Aomine, but sometimes sarcastic comments escape Ryouta’s mouth without his consent. A martyred sigh of boys-are-so-stupid informs him that Momoi is in agreement with his common sense.

Too bad his mouth isn’t.

Aomine knuckles crack in the ensuing silence. Ryouta’s teeth grind behind his smiling lips.

No one pays their standoff much attention, because it doesn’t really look like one.

Ryouta is still smiling and he’ll bet that no one aside from some of his former teammates would be able to tell how fake it really is.

And Aomine’s pose, though he is scowling and curling his hands into fists, does not look threatening ether. He might look like a barbaric warrior, but if there’s one thing he abhors the most it’s violence for the sake of violence. Ryouta had never seen Aomine so much as threaten someone with a black eye. His fuse is as short as they come, but like a single minded child that he still is, Aomine believes that any dispute can be solved with a game of basketball.

“Why the fuck are you in this school? Satsuki said…”

“Dai-chan!”

Not only keeping tabs on him, but reporting to Aomine too. Nice, Momo-cchi.

“And why me being in this school is such a problem, Aomine-cchi?” Ryouta asks, still keeping the smile on his lips. He knows of course, why Aomine might think it’s a problem and while part of him wants to stall that inevitably painful conversation as much as possible another part also wants to get it over with.

Aomine’s eyes narrow, he doesn’t like playing verbal games, that being the exact reason why he was usually annoyed at Ryouta, who wouldn’t know straightforward if it hit him in the face.

“Kise,” he says, visibly trying to reign in another profanity. “You know what the agreement was. You and me being on the same team makes it pointless.”

“Well, if that’s why you are so worried, there’s no need,” Ryouta says smiling brightly. “I quit basketball, so your friendly competition to establish who the biggest man on court is can proceed fair and square.”

He sees the moment his declaration hits home as if in slow motion. He expects an explosion, it is Aomine after all.

What he does not expect is complete lack of expression on Aomine’s face. It’s blank as if all he sees is boring scenery, not one of his friends giving up on his dreams.

But is he? A friend, Ryouta asks himself as he looks into Aomine’s empty face with a smile.

It seems from now on he really is just a part of the boring scenery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's what I have so far. What do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kise meets his roommate and finds a friend

A tired sigh escapes Ryouta’s lips as he falls face first onto his bed and grimaces. This school is conspiring against him: even fucking comforter is dark blue.

His back aches in places he didn’t know could ache – the consequence of sitting straight as a board throughout the entire ceremony. The proud fool in him stubbornly insisting that he should project an image of confidence, even though no one was actually paying attention.

He deliberately took a seat in one of the front rows – knowing that not even Momoi would be able to drag Aomine there – and left immediately after they were released, getting lost in the crowd of his peers that were just as eager to get out, though for the different reasons entirely.

He went straight to the dorm, eyes ahead, not talking to anyone, feeling as if should he only open his mouth, he’ll scream. For help or out of frustration, he didn’t know.

He screams now, voice muffled by the pillow, where he buries his face.

Because it hurts. Even though it’s not supposed to.

There is a dull ache inside his chest that feels like loss, feels like something is missing, though he has no idea what that something might be.

He tells himself that frustration comes from being unprepared for Aomine’s reaction and not responding properly. He tells himself that it’s all for the better: he doesn’t have to explain his decision and even though Aomine would be in the same school, his aloofness would make it as though he isn’t.

He never felt like such a liar in his entire life.

His eyes are stinging and he squeezes them shut. No, no tears, not even here, where no one can see. He’s been told to ‘stop acting like a pansy’ and he will do exactly that. He doesn’t need basketball to prove that he’s a man. What he needs is independence and freedom from people that think they know better, that think they have the right to tell him what to do.

_Smile, Kise-kun. You should always appear cheerful and polite to your fans._

_Stop prancing around like some faggot, Ryouta. I won_ _’_ _t allow my son to disgrace our family with that kind of behavior!_

 _Don_ _’_ _t you need to practice Kise? You still can_ _’_ _t beat me even though I stopped practicing months ago._

Well, fuck them. Fuck. Them. All.

And first of all Aomine. If he wants to stay a little kid playing basketball forever, he can go ahead. Ryouta doesn’t need him, he doesn’t need anyone. All people do is abandon you once you step out of the box they created for you in their head.

And this empty feeling? It will go away. It always does.

 

The door slams shut and Ryouta’s eyes spring open. He seems to have fallen asleep: his mind feels fuzzy and there’s something crusty sticking to his lids.

Someone drops something heavy on the floor – probably his roommate bringing in his things. Ryouta rubs his face into the pillow just in case some tears actually slipped out and turns.

The silence in the room is so complete that he can hear leaves on the sakura tree outside the window rustle in the wind.

Apparently Ryouta was a mass murderer in his former life: so much bad karma doesn’t come out of nowhere. Because there is Aomine standing frozen with his right hand half way to his head, mouth slack mid-yawn and eyes wide open.

Ryouta closes his eyes briefly and then slowly gets up. He doesn’t bother to act cheerful – even Aomine can’t think he’s that much of an idiot – but he doesn’t exactly know what to say ether.

Something unaffected like ‘Well, what a surprise!’ would sound ridiculous. Even if they are not friends any more (were they ever?), there’s still something that stops Ryouta from treating Aomine like a casual acquaintance.

What do you say to a person that stood on the other side of the bridge you just burned? What do you do when you suddenly find them right beside you, but not exactly willing to rebuild what was lost?

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, tongue feeling out already torn patches of skin – that’s one nasty habit he has here – but his gaze is glued to his new roommate. Aomine has gotten out of his frozen state by now and let his arm fall to his side lifelessly. There is no frown on his face tough, no actual emotion really and Ryouta feels another stub of pain inside his chest that he promptly stifles. Finally, Aomine speaks.

“Do you want me to change rooms?”

Not try, do. Confident as ever, Aomine has no doubt that should he set his mind to it, he will be able to.

And Ryouta should say yes. There is a yes on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be released. It somehow gets lost on the way to his lips.

“Why would I want that?” He asks with a smile, barely a twitch in the corners of his mouth.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

That’s a nice conversation they’re having: three questions and not a single answer.

“It seems I’m a bit slow then. Why don’t you explain it to me?”

Ryouta knows that for all of his bluntness, this conversation is really uncomfortable for Aomine, he looks like a trapped animal and knows that he set this trap himself.

But isn’t it in a trap when predators are the most vicious?

Aomine’s face contorts into an angry sneer.

“You’re the one that quit basketball,” he says like ‘You’re the one that abandoned me’, but it can’t be right. You can’t abandon someone who was never there in the first place.

“And?”

“And you slipped away like a little coward right after dropping the news,” Aomine almost spats in his face through the gritted teeth. Ryouta feels each word like a slap.

 _Stop acting like a little coward, Ryouta! Or I_ _’_ _ll toss you into the pool myself!_

He feels anger boiling under his skin and strange exhilaration at the fact that Aomine does care, even if it’s only his ego that has been wounded. But there is no response good enough to refute his accusation. Ryouta did slip away, using the start of the ceremony as an excuse. He did think that the best way to handle the situation would be to cut all ties with Teiko and everyone associated with it.

And it wasn’t so long ago that he was the one calling himself a coward.

“I just wanted to sit closer and lost you and Momo-cchi in the crowd,” he says, trying to sound as casual as possible. “And of course I’d prefer living with Aomine-cchi, rather than some stranger that has God knows what creepy habits.”

Aomine looks at him for a couple of seconds, the flames of anger in his gaze going out one by one, then scoffs and turns away.

“Whatever,” he mutters and slams out of the room.

Ryouta sinks onto the bed lifelessly and puts his face in his hands.

 

The next day brings the start of classes, cloudless sky and Ryouta getting lost on his way to his first lecture. He runs into the auditorium five minutes late, with a croissant stuffed into his mouth and starts apologizing profusely, after swallowing a piece of the pastry that he managed to bite off.

He receives a stern glare and a warning that his tardiness is only tolerated because it’s the first day, quietly slips into a chair in one of the back rows and tries to catch up on what he missed. It’s something math-related, not one of his strongest subjects, so he will have to put in a lot of effort in order to pass. Unfortunately math is also boring, so making effort takes a lot of effort all on its own.

People are still staring – albeit surreptitiously, now that the professor returned to explaining the syllabus – but Ryouta tries his best to ignore them. It’s not like he’s not used to being the center of attention, he was just hoping it would be at last couple of days before the whole school knows that the famous model Kise Ryouta is attending Touou. And he still has to go through the torture of asking the strict professor for syllabus, the distribution of which he missed.

“I can make you a copy after class if you want,” voice whispers to his left and Ryouta jumps in his seat a little, not having noticed that someone was sitting beside him. And that’s quite an achievement, he thinks, turning to find a wide-eyed boy with short mousy hair one seat away. After two years of associating with Kuroko there aren’t a lot of people that could sneak up on him.

The boy looks almost terrified, like he expects Ryouta to snap at him, and before the latter can so much as open his mouth to reply, bows his head and starts apologizing. It looks like he will hit his head on the table if he bows a little bit more, so Ryouta grabs one of his hands to get his attention. The bowing stops and those enormous doe eyes turn on him.

“Hey, it’s ok. No, it’s very nice of you, really. I’m very thankful. This professor looks like he would lecture me for hours if I came to ask him for something.”

He smiles encouragingly and squeezes his hand in reassurance.

“I’m Kise Ryouta by the way,” he adds as a way distraction. The boy blushes and stutters out an introduction.

“Sakurai Ryou.”

Ryouta smiles again, Sakurai is like a shy toddler. His little sister was that way with strangers when she was three or four.

“See, we even have similar names, no need to be shy,” he says and then realizes that he’s talking to a peer like he would to a kindergartener, light blush staining his cheeks.

But Sakurai just beams at him like Ryouta just said the kindest thing he ever heard. And it’s so sincere, this joy from such a simple thing as someone being nice to him. No one had ever looked at Ryouta like that. It feels… warm.

“Kise-san really is a nice person,” he murmurs almost reverently. “I mean, the magazines said you were nice. Not that I didn’t believe them, I mean, I did. But you’re…” he trails off embarrassed and Ryouta laughs at his red face, though not unkindly.

“I’m sorry. I…”

“It’s alright. I know I’m unforgettable,” he winks to soften the arrogance that permeates his reply and Sakurai giggles under his breath. They’re like a couple of teenage girls holding hands and giggling, and Ryouta realizes that he haven’t felt this lighthearted in a long, long time, probably not since first couple of months after becoming a team regular in Teikou.

There’s an ominous throat clearing behind his back and Sakurai’s eyes are once again the size of saucers.

Ryouta is _so_ going to fail math this semester.

 

They walk out of the class together, comparing schedules and laughing about their own childish behavior. They spent the whole lecture trading glances and sniggering quietly after. The professor was furious, but Sakurai surprisingly wasn’t as flustered as Ryouta expected him to be. 

“Oh, Kise-kun, do you want to go to the tryouts together?”

“What?” Ryouta asks bewildered, because it’s a complete non sequitur and sounded suspiciously like…

“Basketball team tryouts?”

Well, shit.

“I…” Why was it so much easier to tell Aomine about quitting basketball, than someone who is practically a stranger?

Maybe because Aomine never had much faith in him in the first place.

Sakurai gives him a contemplative look, one so out of place on his innocent wide-eyed face, that Ryouta barely holds himself from moving closer to check if it’s actually there.

“You’re not going, are you?” he asks quietly, if not a little sadly. Surprisingly though there’s no judgment in his eyes.

Ryouta nods and opens his mouth, trying to explain, but Sukurai stops him.

“No, I understand. Well, no. I don’t. But you don’t have to explain it. It’s too bad tough, this team is already strong, with you we would have probably been unbeatable,” he sighs. “Well, now we’ll just have to try harder to win the championship, right?”

Sakurai is smiling a little self-deprecatingly, but there is a fire in his eyes that looks like determination and Ryouta can’t help but stare in amazement.

He knew someone like that once, a boy who passed no judgment and fought until the last breath. He also watched the light of determination die out a little in those bright blue eyes after each meaningless victory.

He hopes, with fierceness that astounds even him, that the history won’t repeat itself. He hopes for Sakurai’s sake, but also his own. Because there's a tiny place in his mind – existence of which he will never admit, even to himself – that won’t let go of the dark skinned boy with a blinding infectious smile. The one that never took victory for granted.

The one that didn’t measure friendships by skills in basketball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That turned out a little more dramatic than I expected.  
> The thing you should know is that I'm really bad at planning things, so I never really plan my stories. I have a vague outline in my head, that I follow, but details come to me as I write. Sometimes I push myself into a corner that way, but I'm learning to avoid that.  
> The backstory about Kise's father is that unplanned detail (it all fits with my vague plan now, don't worry), Sakurai though, was there from the start. And will play an important role in the story. He is probably a little out of character, but I'm not good with crack, so using his constant apologizing as a comic relief was not an option.
> 
> So, that's it, New chapter. Please let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are still short, but I felt like I needed to end this one here. Some introspection and Imayoshi, here it is.

“Kise-kun, did you know that Aomine Daiki is here? That he will be at the tryouts?” Sakurai asks the question eagerly, like a kid receiving the Christmas present he really wanted, but had no hope of getting.

Ryouta on the other hand is really not eager to have that particular conversation. To have any conversation that involves Aomine at all.

He swallows a spoonful of disgusting swill that university cafeteria tries to pass up as a miso soup and fruitlessly searches his mind for a diversion.

They’ve been avoiding each other for the past three weeks – as much as you can avoid your own roommate – and Ryouta knows this can’t go on forever, but. No, actually scratch that. Ryouta prays that it will continue this way until he graduates. Maybe Aomine will get scouted and drop out or something.

He’s also been trying to avoid Momoi, but that one proved to be much more difficult, because unlike Aomine she hasn’t been avoiding him back. Also, unlike Aomine, who seems to be torn between the urge to deck him in the face and not look at him at all, every time they meet, Momoi looks like she actually wants to talk to Ryouta. Probably to lecture him or give an encouraging speech, he’s guessing, which is why he comes to both of their shared lectures at the last minute and leaves right after the word ‘dismissed’ falls from professor’s lips. 

He doesn’t want to hear it. There’s nothing she can say to change his decision, so there’s no point in wasting both of their time. Unfortunately, it’s Momoi, and she is more persistent than a lethal disease, so he will eventually have to talk to her.

For now, evading is his tactic of choice and Sakurai works as a good shield to stop Momoi from approaching him out of class. He spends most of his free time with the timid young man and though at first the main purpose of that was to stop the one woman interrogation squad, he now realizes how nice it is to have a friend without any baggage of the past, someone who gives him his time and doesn’t demand explanations.

Sakurai, of course, doesn’t know all that. He probably thought Ryouta would be ecstatic to find out that his former teammate is attending the same university. He also seems excited at the possibility of playing on the same team as the gem that is Aomine Daiki, if the kid-in-a-candy-store look on his face is anything to go by.

Ryouta can relate to that. He remembers clearly the excitement he felt at being promoted to the first string and finally getting to train at the same gym as Aomine. The day he was finally able to step on the court as Aomine’s teammate, was one of the best days in his high school career. It made the disappointment later on all that much more painful.

What he finds peculiar is Sakurai’s complete lack of doubt in his own ability to get a spot on the team. This boy, who at their first meeting almost smashed his own head on the desk apologizing for nothing, exudes confidence that could rival that of his former teammates when it comes to basketball.

“You still haven’t told me how it went for you, Sakurai-kun. Did you get the spot?” He asks, hoping for a distraction.

Sakurai looks at him like he said something offensive.

“Of course I did. I may be no miracle, but I’m still very good,” he says pouting and Ryouta has to laugh. Because even though they are complete opposites in terms of expressing their emotion, this boy is so similar to Kuroko in his quiet confidence and easily wounded pride that he can’t help but feel nostalgic.

In the next moment, his own words apparently catch up with Sakurai’s brain and his eyes widen comically.

“I’m so so–” he starts, but stops upon seeing Ryouta’s raised hand.

“Never apologize for being confident in your own skills Sakurai-kun,” Ryouta says his face unusually serious. “I am not saying you should be arrogant, but no talent is worth anything if you don’t believe in yourself.”

He truly believes in what he says, even though he never experienced the lack of confidence in his own abilities. Having been a part of the legendary team that knows no defeat, he’s seen too many people give up before even trying, just because they didn’t believe that they can win.

The young man in front of him smiles brightly, that inexplicable warmth Ryouta felt when they first met still shining through. He will probably ask about Aomine again any minute now and though there is no reason to, Ryouta feels an annoying urge to be as honest with him.

There’s a loud crash somewhere to his left followed by the bout of boisterous laughter and they both turn to look.

“Shit, Akatsuki, you’re the clumsiest person I’ve ever met!” Exclaims the boy with an explosion of unruly ginger curls on his head. He’s holding someone – probably an unfortunate klutz Akatsuki – in a loose headlock, a teasing but friendly smile on his face. “Just for that you’re buying popsicles for all of us next time we go into town,” he adds and the boys around them loudly voice their agreement. The supposed Akatsuki elbows his friend in the stomach and wails a loud “Not fair!” prompting another round of laughter.

And just like that something breaks.

The gentle smile that up until then occupied Ryouta’s face slips away, replaced by the tempered polite one, his eyes dull from concern to mild curiosity. His usual form of defense – a mask of politeness snaps into place with a practiced ease.

This is him, two years ago with Aomine’s arm slang over his shoulder, as he drags Ryouta to the nearest convenience store to buy popsicles. A memory so vivid he can almost feel the warmth of Aomine’s breath in his hair, the soft material of his uniform sweater on his neck.

It feels like another life.

The one that had no such word as disappointment. The one where impossible was something not in their vocabulary.

He flinches when Sakurai’s hand waves in front of his face and doesn’t even have the strength to stop the boy from apologizing.

“Are you all right, Kise-kun? You look… far away,” Sakurai asks his tone uncertain.

Ryouta smiles, not really sincere, but close enough.

“I’m fine. Anyway, you’re saying you got the spot? Congratulations, Sakurai-kun!”

The boy beams proudly and lunches into the story about tryouts and the team. Their captain is kind of creepy, Sakurai says. He always has a smile on his face, but it looks more amused than friendly, as though he finds people around him a great sort of entertainment. He is polite and easy-tempered though, unlike that other guy Wakamatsu, who made a ruckus about Aomine not having to go through the same trials as the others and challenged him to one-on-one.

Ryouta laughs at that. Poor Wakamatsu was completely destroyed of course, but he still would have liked to see that. It had been a long time since someone dared to challenge Aomine, maybe this new team would be good for him.

Sakurai looks at him in wonder but doesn’t ask about Aomine again. And that’s the most amazing thing about Sakurai – he doesn’t ask. For anything really. It’s something Ryouta needs right now, someone to be there for him without explanations. It’s almost surreal how he managed to find a person like that in such a short time.

He wants to show his gratitude, but has no idea how to go about that. He can’t exactly ask Sakurai what he wants for not asking questions.

What _does_ he have to offer? He can’t help him with studying, since out of the two of them Sakurai is actually a better student, the only subjects Ryouta is good at being the ones where all you need is a good memory. Sakurai is not interested in idols, he only read articles about Ryouta because the latter was a basketball player and Ryouta is vain, sure, but not so arrogant to offer his own autographed photobook.

He can’t offer honesty. Not yet.

And that leaves him with nothing else.

 

Two days later Ryouta finds a new meaning for the word creepy.

He’s in the library, somewhat an extraordinary event in itself.

The last time Ryouta had been near any kind of bookshelves, he was seventeen and Hiroko Megumi-chan dragged him into the empty school library to steal his first kiss. She was cute and tiny, her eyelashes thick and eyes deep brown of the milk chocolate. He felt like he was kissing a rubber doll.

Since then he avoided both girls and libraries. Former, because just a week later he discovered himself in a maintenance closet of the studio, they’ve been doing a fashion shoot in, with his male co-model’s hand down his pants. And latter never really held any attraction to him in the first place.

It’s different now. He has no basketball career to fight for and modeling won’t last long, now that his twenties are just two years ahead. Unfortunately, thanks to slacking off during high school he has to study twice as hard now, and Ryouta has never been very smart to begin with.

Which is why he finds himself in the library buried under textbooks and chewing on his pencil in vain attempt to solve some math problems. That Aomine wouldn’t be caught dead in a place fool of books most of which don’t have pictures is a nice added bonus too.

He expects Sakurai any minute now and hopes that maybe with his friend’s help he would be able to finally drill some math into his own thick scull.

What he does not expect is some tall bespectacled guy with a creepy smile to come trailing after Sakurai.

“I’m sorry, Kise-kun. Practice run a bit late and Imayoshi-san asked if he could join us, because he needs to catch up on some assignments,” he apologizes as soon as he’s close enough to be heard while whispering.

Imayoshi Shouichi, who just so happens to be Touou’s basketball team captain, smiles and bows politely.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kise-kun,” he says pleasantly enough, but for some reason Ryouta feels uneasy.

“Likewise,” he answers with a small bow of his own and directs his gaze at Sakurai, his frustration probably evident on his face.

“Is math giving you troubles again, Kise-kun?” The boy asks with a smile and adds without waiting for an answer. “Maybe you should apply for a tutor? You know I’m not very good at it ether.”

Ryouta shrugs.

“I like studying with Sakurai-kun, but if I’m taking too much of your time…” He trails of, knowing Sakurai won’t actually turn him away. There is a limited circle of people who are allowed to see his weaknesses and going to the tutoring center will expand that circle too much.

Ryouta knows, that being too proud to ask for help is a trait that never did anyone any good. He’s also too stubborn to admit it to anyone but himself.

“Oh, you don’t happen to have Shirogane-sensei for math, do you?” Imayoshi drawls, his kansai accent even more pronounced when before. Ryouta’s leg twitches in surprise, he almost forgotten that he’s here. He also has no idea what the professor’s name is, the guy introduced himself while Ryouta was busy being late and he never bothered to find out.

“We do,” Sakurai nods. “Do you know him?”

“I do actually,” Imayoshi answers, his smile gaining a really bothersome edge, he looks like a cat that got its mouse in the corner. “I had him my first semester too and I’m very good at math.”

He turns to Ryouta then, and the latter knows, he’s absolutely certain that something is going to go wrong just about now.

“I can tutor you if you want,” Imayoshi says. “I need to repeat this material for my midterm paper anyway.”

Fuck.

Ryouta takes a sharp breath. He has no idea why this offer doesn’t sit well with him and no actual reason for refusing. Imayoshi already knows that he needs help, he has experience with a teacher and though Sakurai called his captain creepy, he also said that the guy was very smart, polite and mild-tempered.

But it still feels like a trap, as ridiculous as it sounds even in his own head.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” he says, forcing a smile onto his lips. “I’m sure you have enough on your plate already, being a basketball team captain and a second year student.”

“Ooh, so Sakurai-kun talks about me. How flattering!” Imayoshi cheers and Ryouta snaps his teeth together – he said too much.

“But it would be no trouble at all,” the other reassures him still smiling. “Like I said: I need to repeat this material anyway and it would be my pleasure to help Sakurai-kun’s friend.”

There is no way out of this. If he refuses he would seem rude and Sakurai knows exactly how much he needs all the help he can get on the subject, for Ryouta to say that tutoring is not really necessary.

His short nails dig into the palm of his right hand. Honestly, how bad can it be?

“If it’s really not too much trouble,” he mumbles bowing in gratitude.

He should be happy – he just scored a tutor without having to go through the embarrassing procedure of applying at the tutoring center.

Why does it feel like a lock on the door has just clicked behind his back?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually like Imayoshi a lot (he's one of my favorite characters) and he just gained an important role in the story. Good for him =))  
> Please, let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to update Bullet and this one in turns, but as usual all my plans fail and this comes out. But! It's a longer chapter and I'm going to work on Bullet next.

Imayoshi, it turns out, is a fairly good teacher. So good, in fact, that Shirogane-sensei looks at Ryouta suspiciously every time he hands him his assignments and tests back with a positive mark.

Imayoshi is patient and has a way with words that leaves you wondering how could you have not understood something so simple before he explained it to you. He doesn’t sound condescending, nor does he skip through the small things, assuming Ryouta should know them already. In the end Ryouta has no idea where his building paranoia comes from, but he still feels like something is off with the whole amiable setup.

They meet twice a week, Sakurai sometimes joining them, but more often than not they are alone. First couple of sessions find Ryouta a tense bundle of nervous energy – he expects questions about him quitting basketball, offers to join the team and more questions about his refusal.

None of this actually happens.

After a while Ryouta just wants to knock his head on the table for being so conceited. It’s not like any team would need _him_ , after they got Aomine.

At first Imayoshi doesn’t bring up basketball at all, even in the presence of Sakurai. He doesn’t mention practice or anything concerning the team, neither in passing nor directly. Gradually Ryouta starts to relax, so when the initial mention of the sport-that-should-not-be-named comes, he doesn’t even notice it at first.

It starts small. Little complaints about how difficult it is to lead a team of unruly young men, most of whom think they know better than their captain. How annoying it is to have to prove his right to tell them what to do every day.

There is no bitterness in his voice, just a little weariness and when he starts mentioning specific players, he sounds so much like an exasperated, but proud father that Ryouta can’t help but feel a little pang of jealousy.

He thinks about Akashi, the way he was before that damned argument with Murasakibara. He thinks about his own father, the glimpses of the kind man he was before their mother’s death. It’s barely there now, that memory. Eleven years gone in a flash of angry words and constant disapproval.

He lets Imayoshi talk anyway, it’s not as though the captain can tell any of this to his teammates – being somewhat isolated by his position – and it feels like he needs someone to listen to him. Someone who’s uninvolved, but can relate at the same time. Besides, Ryouta can’t think of any other way to thank him for the time spent tutoring his dumb self.

The problem is that while Ryouta tells himself it’s no big deal, he still feels his frustration build every time he tries to sort out his feelings about those conversations.

On one hand all those little anecdotes and stories about training bring up the feeling of warm nostalgia, the happiness he felt holding the ball in his hands, the exhilaration of every match and one-on-one. On the other, there’s a lingering bitterness, because he’ll never get to feel that way again.

Even the knowledge that it was his own decision doesn’t make dealing with it any easier. He misses basketball like crazy, something he didn’t actually realize until Imayoshi brought his attention back to it.

And then a month later, after his guard finally drops down, the uneasy feeling that was laying dormant in the back of his mind finally comes true.

They are in the back of the library, so that their quiet discussion wouldn’t disturb other students. Today’s session is finished and Ryouta is slowly gathering his things to go back to the dorm.

He thinks about Aomine, who almost seems like a figment of his imagination with how rarely they see each other lately. Where exactly the blue haired man spends his days is anyone’s guess.

He’s not attending classes – Ryouta has never seen him in the lecture halls or at any of the lectures required for the first years. He doesn’t go to practice – according to Sakurai he is allowed to do that as long as he wins (so, Teiko policy all over again, then) – but he still comes to the dorm room pretty late in the evening, strips quietly and falls into bed. He’s sleeping when Ryouta leaves in the morning and not there when he comes back.

Ryouta is so distracted, trying to figure out if Aomine really is that desperate to avoid him, or he’s just reverting back to his cat-like habits and sleeps the day away on the roof, that he jumps a little when Imayoshi speaks.

“Are you busy after this, Kise-kun?” He asks, with a small trademark smile playing on his lips.

Ryouta tilts his head to the side, a little surprised at the question. Which is probably why he answers honestly without thinking it through.

_(Hook.)_

“Not really. I was going to go back to the dorm to check some e-mails and call my manager. Why?”

Imayoshi looks sheepish, but… not. It looks weird, like this expression doesn’t really work for him. It seems genuine, but feels fake.

“I have a favor to ask,” he says, rubbing his neck. “I know you don’t play regularly anymore, but I wanted to practice a move and I don’t want to do it in front of the team in case I fail. So, could you, maybe, be my opponent?”

_(Line.)_

Ryouta stills.

This is.

Not.

Happening.

His hands clench on the strap of his bag, metal loop digging into his palm.

It’s a perfectly innocent request. It’s not like Imayoshi knows how painful it is for him to even talk about basketball. The reasoning is solid too – it would do no favors to the team morale to see their captain fail, and you can’t know how good the move is until you tried it against a real player.

But.

There is a but, that Ryouta has no foundation for. It’s a faint apprehension that was there from the start. Like he’s stepping into a trap, even though there are no signs of it.

What can Imayoshi possibly gain from this? The answer is: exactly nothing.

He wouldn’t get the feel of what playing against the Generation of Miracles is like – Ryouta is the weakest and he haven’t been training for months.

But there is something, those half-mast eyes behind the glasses are glinting with some sort of hidden agenda. Only Ryouta has no idea what it could possibly be and has no way of refusing without looking like a jerk.

“Sure, why not?” He says, barely managing to keep his voice cheerful.

The small smile on Imayoshi’s face becomes a grin.

_(And sinker.)_

 

Holding a basketball after such a long break is unnerving.

Since starting almost two years ago Ryouta haven’t gone more than a week without playing and that was only due to the back to back photoshoots that his manager absolutely forbidden him to refuse.

The rough texture and the smell of rubber are just like before, but the feeling they bring is undeniably different. Instead of the bubbling excitement and the thrum of competitive blood in his veins, the primary thing Ryouta feels now is dread.

The ball, so familiar, yet foreign, weights his arms down like a lead.

But still.

Still, there is an itch in the tips of his fingers and his feet automatically step into the practiced form. He wants to play, more than anything and feels terrified at the mere thought. He’s like an addict given a dose of his personal brand of heroin – he craves, but knows that once won’t be enough.

His eyes raise to lock with his opponent’s. Imayoshi raises an eyebrow and holds his hands palms forward, asking for the ball. One moment Ryouta’s fingers tighten on the orange sphere possessively and the next it flies at the bespectacled man like a stone from the sling.

The smile Ryouta receives in return is positively devious.

Imayoshi dribbles once, twice, three times – every movement slow like a clock hand during the last five minutes of the boring lecture.

Ryouta can’t really recall what happens next.

The Touou team’s captain charges forward, going for the basket. There is some sort feint, probably the one he wanted to try, but Ryouta isn’t thinking. His body moves of its own accord stepping to the side, blocking and stealing the ball. He turns around, changing hand when his opponent tries to steal back and jumps, the ball slamming through the net with brutal force.

He lands on his feet, easy and graceful. And then reality slams back.

“I’m so sorry!” Ryouta exclaims, turning back to Imayoshi, but instead of shock or displeasure he expected, the only thing he sees is a shit-eating grin. The guy positively brims with self-satisfaction.

“Why did you quit basketball Kise-kun?”

Ryouta thinks that he should have predicted this turn of events, but still feels blindsided. There it is, the one question he dreaded and the one thing he expected to hear the last right now.

“I… what is it to you?” he throws back, defensive, arms folded on his chest.

“You have to see it, don’t you? You didn’t even need to think. After… what was it? Only playing for less than two years and going three months without practice you slam the ball out of my hands and into the basket with the ease of someone who’s been blocking that move for years.”

“You weren’t…”

“I _was_ playing seriously. I’ll admit I lied to you – this is not something new I wanted to practice. This was something I’ve been practicing since starting University. And while I’m not a miraculous prodigy, I’m still a damn good player. You’re the first person to beat it.”

“You don’t expect me to believe…” Ryouta starts once again, but is once again interrupted.

“Granted, I have never played your former teammates, but you should remember that Touou was the winner of last year’s Winter cup, when I have already been a captain” Imayoshi says meaningfully.

Ryouta’s teeth click shut.

Yeah, those might be good points. He knows that given time, determination and maybe a little leeway he will be more than good, he might even catch up to Aomine, though he’ll probably always be just one step behind.

But in the end…

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, calm and resigned. He made his decision. It hurts like a bitch and takes all he has to stick with it, but he will.

Imayoshi looks confused.

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter how talented or worthless I am. The reason I quit has nothing to do with my abilities. I’m not afraid to be knocked off that stupid Generation of miracles pedestal and I am not Aomine-cchi, who lost his faith because his opponents lost their will.”

Imayoshi's eyebrows twitch at the nickname, but he doesn't comment on it.

“Then why?”

“Why do you even care?” Ryouta asks, exasperated. “You have Aomine-cchi, you don’t need me.”

“Unlike you and Aomine-kun, I don’t believe in that bullshit he spiels about being unbeatable. There’s always someone stronger and college basketball scene is different from high school. In school many people play because it is something to do, the ones who continue to play in college are the ones who take the sport seriously. I won’t say that everyone plays to be scouted, but they are much more dedicated and mature, they won’t give up that easily. For me Aomine-kun’s biggest flaw is not his overblown ego, it’s that he _wants_ to lose. I’ve been on this team for three years, I’ve worked really hard to make it strong. I don’t care for his reasons and angst. We can’t afford to lose just to satisfy his desire to make basketball more interesting.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Ryouta says, impressed by the speech despite himself, but still not converted to Imayoshi’s beliefs. “All he needs is a strong opponent, once he finds someone like that, he will get serious and will push through.”

“Your faith in him is astounding,” the other man says in a somewhat amazed tone and Ryouta feels the heat of the blush creep up his checks. “But I don’t want to hold my breath every time we’re up against someone strong, waiting to see if Aomine will wake up in time to catch up.”

Ryouta sighs.

“I won’t dismiss your concerns, but I don’t share them. Even if I did, it still wouldn’t change my decision.”

“You won’t tell me your reasons,” Imayoshi asks, but Ryouta doesn’t hear the questioning mark at the end of the sentence.

“No. My reasons are my own and there’s nothing you – or anyone else – could do about them anyway.”

There is a loud whoosh as the other man lets out a breath.

“I had to try,” he says with a crooked smile twisting his lips, takes a few steps to leave, but then turns around to face Ryouta once more.

“I don’t know your circumstances – though I suspect they have nothing to do with basketball – so I can’t say with confidence whether you’re making the right decision. I am confident in this though: the talent like yours is rare, it’s a gift many people wish to possess, but so few are given. Whatever your reasons, I suggest you to think really hard if they are worth it to waste something so exceptional.”

He leaves after that, leaving Ryouta alone with nothing but an empty court and a basketball.

Nothing but his own jumbled thoughts.

 

Ryouta trudges back to the dorm at a slow pace, his shoulders slumped under the weight of the questions put in his mind.

His head is a scene of the major disaster. Everything that was solid and organized up until now is suddenly head over heels. He is so distracted, that the fact that he's standing in front of his room only registers when the handle under his palm turns and the door swings inward.

He stumbles forward, losing his balance and bracing for the fall, only to catch himself on something warm and solid. There is a grunt and Ryouta’s shoulders are clasped into an iron grip, familiar smell washing over him.

He knows even without the logic behind this conclusion, that the solid wall of muscle under his palms is Aomine. Ryouta has no idea when he became so familiar with Aomine's scent, but for some reason this smell of dust, sun and basketball feels like coming home. It’s so comforting, that for a moment he forgets all about his doubts, all about the fact that he and Aomine have barely talked to each other in the past two months.

He almost forgets the hurtful words Aomine said to him the last time they did talk.

Almost, but not quite.

He pushes back quickly, barely righting himself in time not to fall on his ass.

“I’m sorry Aomine-cchi,” he mumbles, without looking up. “I was just going to open the door and…”

“Fuck you.”

The words are so sudden and unreasonable, that Ryouta freezes. His eyes shoot up, wide with shock, only to meet with the furious dark blue.

Aomine’s face is angry, contorted into harsh lines and for a moment Ryouta gets the feeling of deja vu: it’s the day of the entrance ceremony all over again. But then he takes a closer look and knows – this is different.

That day Aomine _was_ angry, yes, but more than that he looked disappointed. As though Ryouta somehow failed some grand expectations Aomine put on him.

Right now, the man in front of him is almost seething with rage and however pacifist Aomine’s disposition usually is, Ryouta is bracing for the punch.

It doesn’t come. What comes is Aomine’s hand on his arm, dragging him inside their room. He winces as the door shuts with a loud bang and rubs as if trying to brush the imprint of those iron-like fingers off his skin. He can feel the bruise already forming - Aomine paid no mind to his strength when he grubbed Ryouta.

“Aomine-cchi?” He questions quietly.

Something is really, really wrong here.

“You’re such a little liar, Kise,” Aomine fires without preamble, the casualness of his tone sounding like a taunt. Ryouta feels even more confused.

“I don’t under–”

“I saw you.”

The accusation is obvious. What he’s being accused of is still a mystery though.

“Saw me what?” Ryouta asks dumbly. Because… what?

“I saw you just now, playing Imayoshi on the court behind the building four,” Aomine says as if it should explain everything.

Well, it doesn’t.

“So, what? He asked and…”

“Basketball is boring isn’t it?” Aomine asks, not letting him talk.

Ryouta frowns, despite himself. Why would Aomine say that?

“Aomine-cchi, would you please stop going in circles around your point? You’re confusing me,” he says, trying and probably failing to banish annoyance from his voice.

Aomine sneers.

“Stop playing the dumb blond card. That was why you quit, wasn’t it? That’s why you quit everything – you get good, it gets boring. So you run away without even trying to find a worthy opponent. And now I see you playing with our _team captain_ and having _fun_. So, which one was a lie, ha, _Ryouta_?”

Aomine spits his name out like an insult. Not a sign of closeness, but one of disrespect.

It’s funny, how jealous Ryouta sometimes was of Kuroko, because the latter got Aomine to call him by his first name, how he sometimes imagined what it would be like to hear Aomine say “Ryouta”. Reality, as always, turns even such a simple dream into disappointment.

There is something else that bothers him, though.

“I never said, I quit because it’s boring,” he says evenly, looking directly into Aomine’s eyes.

“What was it then? Did you get scared? Maybe you don’t actually want a challenge. Giving up at the first sign of competition.”

And this. Is the last straw.

"Fuck you and your assumptions. You have no idea why I quit, you didn't even bother asking. You just drew your own conclusions, like everyone else always does.”

Ryouta is angry, so angry. Most of all at himself for stupidly believing that Aomine would be different. They were friends once, weren’t they? A long time ago, before Aomine turned into this indifferent cold version of himself. It wasn’t all in his head.

“Alright then. Tell me, why did you quit basketball after ranting my ears off with promises to catch up and get better?” Aomine challenges him, arms folded on his chest. He obviously thinks that this will provoke an honest answer.

And Ryouta wants to be honest. It’s not like his reason for quitting is some big dark secret. It’s personal, yes, but Aomine already know what his father is like. Ryouta’s decision to quit basketball is a necessary step. A step someone else might have understood.

Someone else who is not Aomine.

Aomine who lives and breathes basketball would never be able to fathom how anyone could choose something else over it. Even something as important as financial independence.

Ryouta forces his face into an indifferent mask and steels for an explosion that will definitely follow his reply.

“None of your business.”

There is a flash of hurt in Aomine’s eyes, but it’s so fleeting and so quickly replaced by anger that Ryouta is sure it’s a wishful thinking.

“And you’re wondering why people start making assumptions. Because you never tell the goddamn truth.”

_Oh, really?_

“Maybe because my personal life is no one’s goddamn business.”

Aomine’s fist connects with the wardrobe, making its hinges creek and the hangers inside rattle loudly.

“So, what? I’m supposed to ask but you will not answer. Make up your fucking mind, will you?”

“Look, I’ll tell you the same thing I told your captain: my reasons are my own, they are personal. You won’t understand or appreciate them anyway.”

There is definitely a flash of hurt in the dark blue of Aomine’s gaze now.

“How would you know if you won’t tell me?”

“I know your priorities,” Ryouta says simply. “And right now they are different from mine.”

It’s the truth, as much of it as he is willing to share. Aomine is quiet, but the look he gives Ryouta is loud and clear: this conversation is not over.

He has not given enough.

But then, it’s never enough with Aomine, is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! I was going to add one more conversation to it, but it got long, so next time.  
> Please, let me know what you think!


End file.
